CHAPTER 480: CHAOTIC, BENJAMIN GOT A SLAVE?

The maids had only just finished when the door opened again—without a knock this time.

Alaric stood framed in the threshold, his dark presence filling the chamber, but his eyes... his eyes softened the moment they landed on her.

For once, he wasn’t the feared third prince, nor the cold shadow the court whispered about. He was simply Alaric—her husband.

Salviana, caught off guard, flushed under his gaze. She wanted to hide, to turn away from the intensity of it, but his stare pinned her where she stood.

"By the gods," he murmured, stepping forward slowly, as though afraid she might vanish if he moved too fast. His voice dropped lower, velvet and unshakable. "You’re... breathtaking."

Sarah, Emma, and Thalia exchanged wide-eyed glances, their mouths snapping shut for once.

Alaric reached her, towering close, and with a reverence that sent warmth rushing through her, he lifted his hand to her cheek. Then, as though unable to stop himself, he pressed the softest kiss to her temple. Another to her cheekbone. Another to the corner of her jaw. Tiny blessings, whispered in the language of touch.

"You are too pretty," he said against her skin, his words vibrating down to her bones. A kiss to her forehead. "Your eyes..." His lips brushed her brow. "Your smile..." A graze at the corner of her mouth.

Salviana shivered, every breath catching. Her hands fidgeted against her gown, but when he reached for one, she gave it to him, trembling.

"Your dress..." His gaze traveled over the midnight velvet, admiration so naked it left her throat dry. "It should be locked away, lest men lose their senses tonight." He bent, kissing the back of her hand. "But it is you who makes it divine."

The words, so direct and shameless, struck her like arrows. Salviana ducked her head, crimson blooming across her cheeks. "Alaric..." she whispered, barely managing his name. "Please... the maids—"

Emma squealed softly before Sarah shot her a glare. Thalia simply clutched her apron to her chest, sighing dreamily.

Alaric ignored them, still holding Salviana’s hand as though it were a crown jewel he dared not relinquish. "Walk with me," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Let the court see the stars themselves chose you tonight."

Her heart thundered, but she nodded, letting him lead her out. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, grounding her, even as she felt every pair of maid eyes following, and every bit of shyness burning through her.

Is this what it means, she thought, cheeks warm, to be loved so openly?

Soon they reached.

The carved doors of the grand dining hall opened with a thunderous announcement. Salviana felt Alaric’s steady hand at her back, guiding her in, his warmth a shield against the icy stares that always followed them.

But this time, those stares weren’t for her.

The hall was chaos. Voices rose like crows startled from a carcass, nobles half-standing from their seats, faces flushed in disbelief.

At the center of it all, First Prince Benjamin stood smugly beside a trembling girl dressed in chains of silver. A chain—an actual chain—hung from her wrist, looped carelessly in his hand as though he were presenting a prized hound instead of a human being.

"She’s mine," Benjamin declared, loud enough for the whole hall to hear. "A slave. Bought her with my own coin." His grin was wolfish, daring anyone to defy him.

Gasps cracked through the air like lightning. Salviana’s stomach turned cold. A slave? In the house of Dravenmore? What madness is this...

Before the king or queen could even speak, the siblings reacted.

Florence slammed her goblet down, wine splashing crimson across the white tablecloth. "Have you lost your mind, Benjamin? A slave? Do you know what this looks like before every kingdom watching us?"

Lucas sneered, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. "He’s always been a fool, but this—this is corruption of blood."

Jolene rose halfway, her sharp features trembling with fury. "You shame us all. You shame our name. We are heirs of thrones, not slavers!"

Even Christina, usually quiet and cold, had her eyes narrowed to slits, voice cutting through like ice. "Father will not forgive this. Neither will the council."

Benjamin only tugged the chain, jerking the girl closer. She stumbled, lips trembling, too terrified to speak. His grin widened at her weakness. "She is mine," he repeated, tone dripping with defiance. "And I will parade her as such. Let the kingdoms see the strength of Dravenmore—let them see no one is untouchable."

The girl’s wide, desperate eyes swept the room, begging silently for mercy. Salviana’s chest ached at the sight, fingers curling at her sides.

Around them, courtiers whispered in horror, voices sharp as daggers:

"A slave...?"

"In Wyfkeep?"

"Blasphemy—this has never—"

"What will the dean say—"

The king’s chair sat empty still—the dinner had not yet officially begun—but the scandal had already sunk its teeth into the evening.

Alaric’s grip tightened around Salviana’s hand, grounding her before her shock became too visible. His jaw ticked, that dangerous muscle flexing.

And in the pit of her stomach, Salviana realized this night was not about the welcoming of her and her husband dinner anymore. It was about the unraveling of a kingdom.

"But you have a wife!"

The words rang out like a slap, slicing through the chaos of the dining hall.

All heads turned to where Lilian, Benjamin’s wife, sat two seats down—her face pale, lips pressed into a thin line of quiet ruin. She did not rise, did not scream, did not protest. She sat there defeated, like a queen without her crown, eyes fixed on the jeweled floor rather than the chain her husband flaunted.

Benjamin sneered at her silence. "A wife does not stop a man from taking what he desires. She knows her place."

A ripple of outrage surged through the siblings again. Florence actually stood this time, fists trembling against the table. Jolene’s jaw tightened like she might leap across the room and claw his eyes out.

But Salviana—Salviana only stared, heart pounding. Why now? Why this disgrace? Unless...

Her gaze flicked toward the far end of the room, where whispers of a name already haunted every shadow. Prince Embrez.

Could it be? Was Benjamin lashing out because Embrez had returned—because somewhere, deep inside, he feared the crown might slip from his hand? The timing was too sharp, too deliberate.

Alaric’s voice broke her thoughts, low and calm, but commanding. "Ignore them."

He bent, brushing his lips softly against her temple, a tender counterpoint to the storm. His hand guided hers, warm and firm, ushering her toward their seats as though nothing in the world could touch them.

"Sit, Salviana," he murmured, pulling her chair out, steadying her with a look. His eyes lingered on her face, blessing her with reassurance before trailing briefly, coldly, toward Benjamin. "Let madness perform its show. We do not bow to it."

Reluctantly, she sat. Around them, the room seethed—Florence shouting, Lucas mocking, Jolene cursing, Lilian shrinking—but Alaric wrapped the world around her like a shield.

Still, Salviana’s thoughts churned. If Embrez truly is back... then this kingdom is already at war within itself.

The dishes were finally served, steaming platters laid out in gilded trays as though nothing ugly had just unfolded.

But the tension in the room still crackled. Benjamin glowered at anyone who dared glance his way, Florence muttered under her breath, and Lilian barely touched her goblet.

Alaric, on the other hand, seemed utterly unfazed.

He reached for Salviana’s plate before she could lift her fork. "No," he said smoothly, cutting into the roasted pheasant with decisive precision. "A divine lady doesn’t serve herself."

"Alaric..." she whispered, cheeks warming as he raised a morsel to her lips.

"Open." His voice dropped low, teasing, command hidden in tenderness. She did, shyly, and his grin curved wicked when she chewed. "See? Perfect. Just like you."

Salviana’s lashes fluttered. "Stop it, people are—"

"Watching?" He leaned in, brushing the corner of her mouth with his thumb before kissing the same spot. "Good. Let them watch. Let them choke on envy."

Across the table, Jolene groaned loudly. "Gods above, do you two ever stop?"

Lucas chuckled. "I think I just lost my appetite."

Florence smirked but muttered, "They’re disgusting."

Benjamin slammed his goblet down. "This is a dinner, not a brothel."

Alaric didn’t even glance at him. His attention was fixed solely on Salviana as he whispered against her ear, "I love you." Another kiss, this time on her cheek. "I adore you." Then the tip of her nose. "I would starve before letting you lift a fork yourself."

Salviana hid her face with her hand, but he caught it, pressed her knuckles to his lips, and held them there until she melted into breathless laughter.

The doors thundered open.

The Queen entered.

And still—Alaric was feeding his wife figs dipped in honey, licking a drop from her lip before she could.

A collective sound of disgust rippled down the table. Even the servants coughed, trying to look away. But Salviana’s heart swelled, her world narrowed to the man beside her.

No one—not even the Queen herself—could dim that light.